


Here Comes The Bride

by Bunnywest, Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Lydia Martin, Allison Argent Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Allison Argent, BAMF Lydia Martin, Chris Argent deserves nice things, Dark fluff, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Hunters & Hunting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Murder Wife, Plotting, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Strong women who take care of their man, Warning: Gerard Argent, Warning: Kate Argent, Wedding Planning, Weddings, rated M FOR MURDER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: All Lydia wants is a gorgeous older man and a happy marriage with no pesky in-laws. And what Lydia wants, she gets. Chris can't say he minds.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Lydia Martin, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 387
Kudos: 678





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/gifts).



> Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far, away, DiscontentedWinter made a stray comment in a discord channel - "I just wanna see the fic where Lydia marries Chris and murders his family as a wedding present."  
> And, well. In our defence, we were left unsupervised.  
> This was originally meant to be a birthday fic...three months ago *Side-eyes calendar* but there was this pandemic and life went kinda crazy for a while, so now we're calling it an "Essential Worker's Thank You" fic.  
> We hope you like it, Winter!

When Allison texts Chris to tell him she has a surprise at home, the last thing he expects to find is Lydia Martin sitting on his couch with a glass of wine, smiling mischievously at him.

“Lydia’s moving back for a year!” Allie’s excitement is palpable, and Chris is glad for her, but internally he groans. Lydia’s always been exactly his type, but she was too young and he wasn’t going to be the guy who hit on his daughter’s friend. No matter how much he thought she was flirting, he refused to play along, resisting temptation. He’s no cradle robbing creep. 

But now, Lydia’s in her mid-twenties, and the cutesy schoolgirl is long gone. She’s grown into the picture of sophistication and class. She’s also drop-dead gorgeous. It takes more willpower than it should to restrict his greeting to a nod, and not linger taking in every curve and hint of skin that's exposed by the slit in her skirt and daring neckline. _Not that guy,_ he reminds himself.

Lydia doesn’t seem similarly constrained, though. ”Hello, Mr. Argent. You look . . . good.” Her eyes travel over his body appreciatively, not even trying to hide her interest. 

Chris clears his throat, feeling a little like a slab of beef at the butcher's shop. It’s been a long time since someone looked at him with that much blatant appraisal. “A year, huh?”

She dips her chin. “I’m taking some time off between getting my PhD and breaking into the field for real. I need to recharge, make sure I’m at my best before I start turning entire disciplines upside down.” 

“I invited her to stay the night. It’s been so long.” Allison plops down next to Lydia and wraps an arm around her waist, still smiling. “It’s fine, right?”

“Of course—you’re not a teenager anymore, you don't need to ask permission to have friends over.” 

“You’re the best, Mr. Argent,“ Lydia coos, coming over and wrapping herself around him in a hug that probably _looks_ harmless—except Allison can’t see the way Lydia nuzzles at his collarbone. She smells good, and her body is soft and small against the hard planes of his chest. 

She only clings for a few seconds, just long enough for Chris to want more, and she pulls away when Allie giggles. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” 

The girls take their leave, heads together as they whisper, and Chris follows at a respectful distance. He showers and peels out of his work clothes, and definitely doesn’t think about soft flesh and vivid red hair while he jerks off. 

He always did have a type.

***

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. But it’s hard not to pause and tune in when Allie lets out what can only be described as a squeal. _“Lydia! No!”_

“Lydia, yes. I’ve always liked older men, and your father's—well, I could describe it, but you wouldn’t want me to. The point is, no one else will do.”

Chris lingers outside the bedroom door listening, thoughts whirling. She can’t be serious? And, even if she is, Allison will, of course, tell her that he’s her _father_ and off-limits. But instead, she stops laughing, pausing for a moment before replying, “It wouldn’t be the weirdest match out there. I guess I’d be okay with it, as long as you were both happy,” and Chris’s jaw drops. 

Lydia gives a soft laugh. “Oh, sweetie. I’m not asking for permission.”

Allison snorts. “Of course not. You’d never do something so mundane. Good luck, though—he doesn’t date.”

Chris hears a soft hum. “We’ll see about that.”

Alison sighs fondly. “You’ve always gotten what you wanted. Guess we’ll see if your streak holds.”

***

Chris had planned to steer clear, play it safe, but suddenly it seems Lydia’s everywhere. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect she was the hunter, because he’s feeling distinctly pursued. 

She’s in his house, sprawled across his couch in skimpy satin pyjama shorts and curve-hugging camisoles that should be illegal. She’s at the diner he likes to go to for lunch, inviting herself to his table and drinking smoothies with hollowed cheeks and obscene flicks of her tongue. She’s at the grocery store when he and Allie shop, reaching for the top shelf so her dresses ride up, sometimes to just below the cheeks of her delectable ass. Her smile is always smug when she catches him staring.

She’s teasing him, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to ignore. He tries anyway. In part it’s because he resents being treated like some kind of trophy, but it’s not just that. As flattered as he is, being the object of desire of a woman as smart and tenacious as Lydia, the quiet, ugly truth is that he’s not sure he can handle being a conquest. As easy as it would be to give in to what she obviously wants, he doesn’t want to be cast aside after he’s fulfilled whatever fantasies she has. He’s never been interested in idle flings, not with the life he’s lived, and he’s not about to start now. 

But goddamnit, she’s not making it easy.

***

After three weeks of constant contact and increasingly obvious flirting, it comes to a head the day Chris comes home to find Lydia trying to tan on the back lawn in a string bikini. “Do my back?” she purrs, holding out the sunscreen. Chris gestures vaguely and bolts upstairs in self-preservation, ignoring the way girlish laughter follows him. 

He can’t take it anymore, and decides to call Lydia’s bluff. See how she likes being on the receiving end. He has no doubt she’ll back off if confronted. Part of him is sad their game is coming to an end—he can’t deny he’s enjoyed feeling wanted. But it _is_ a game to her, and Chris doesn’t play. Not with this. Not when it really matters. 

So when he walks her to her car as she leaves their house later that evening, he decides to clear the air. His big hands grip her around the waist, and he presses as close against her as he dares. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

He expects her to deny or deflect, to play innocent, maybe, but she just laughs. “I wondered when you’d catch up.”

He turns her so they’re facing, hands still resting lighting on her sides. “You’re twenty-four. I’m . . . not. I can’t say I’m not flattered, but it’s time to give up the game.”

She tosses her head, but it’s not the casual hair flip he’s seen countless times over the years. The determined glint in her eyes makes Chris shiver with something he doesn’t want to name. “I’m sorry, did you think I didn’t know that? That I somehow managed to be best friends with your daughter for years and not realize there’s an age gap? Give me a little credit. I know what I want.”

Chris’s grip tightens slightly at the mention of Allison. “So what, you wanna play out your daddy kink fantasies with your best friend’s father? Check it off your bucket list?” He scoffs. It’s as derisive as any Peter’s given over the years. 

But Lydia just arches one perfect eyebrow, refusing to rise to the bait. “No, Mr. Argent.” She smiles, and it’s only sweet on the surface. “I want you in my bed, of course, but more than that, I want to keep you.” Chris’s cock gives an interested throb in his pants, while his lungs squeeze. 

That’s. That’s not an answer he’d prepared for. He doesn’t know if he _could_ have prepared for it, even if he knew it was coming. 

He pulls her toward him with the hands still at her waist, gently, so she can choose whether or not to be drawn forward. Unsurprisingly, she moves with him until she’s pressed against his chest, her arms draped over his shoulders and face tipped up expectantly. He husks out, “Call me Chris.”

Lydia gives him a triumphant smile. “So, _Chris,_ how about you take me out to dinner, and we'll see where things go from there?”

***

They’re engaged within the month. 

Chris didn’t mean to propose, but a stray thought came to him one night as he lay with a face full of red hair and his arms full of sleeping Lydia, and refused to be pushed aside. _We could be happy together._

Once the idea of making this permanent, making it _real_ , took hold, he couldn’t shake it. He bought the ring the next day.

Peter calls just to mock him about being a sugar daddy, which, given how hard Chris laughed when Peter had finally admitted to having feelings for Stiles, is probably fair. It’s only when he threatens to mail some mountain ash to a certain doe-eyed boy that Peter stops laughing and tells him, with a surprising level of sincerity, that he’s genuinely happy for them. Of course, he has to spoil it by adding, ”Although a genius like Lydia could definitely do better than you.” Chris reconsiders sending that ash after all. 

Unsurprisingly, Lydia is a child of the digital age, and informs the rest of the pack—and the rest of the world—about their engagement via social media. And also his sister, who in turn tells their father, because of course Kate is on Facebook. It’s exactly her brand of useful evil. 

Chris gets the call later that night. He picks up and hears, “I’m disappointed you didn’t tell us in person Christopher, but I’m glad to see you’ve finally stopped moping to step up and fulfill your obligations to this family.” His father doesn’t even bother with ‘hello’, or any other greeting, because that would require manners. “I assume—” 

“—I was going to call and inform the family tomorrow, but Lydia didn’t want to wait,” he interrupts. Chris doesn’t want to let his father run amok with whatever assumptions he might have. Nothing good can come of that. 

There’s a pause. “I see,” Gerard says slowly. “Kate and I are coming down tomorrow to meet her.” _Approve of her,_ he doesn’t say, but Chris doesn’t need to hear it spoken aloud to understand it’s being said. “Inform your bride-to-be that her presence is required at dinner tomorrow night. Seven o’clock should do.” And then he hangs up like the crotchety, entitled bastard he is. Chris feels his stomach turn to lead and drop halfway to his knees. 

_There’s no way to win this_ , is the first, slightly hysterical thought he has after he’s pocketed his phone. Trying to keep Lydia away from his family will only cause a disaster, given how tenacious both Kate and Gerard are. They’ll find a way to meet and interrogate her, regardless of what either he or Lydia has to say on the matter. And the harder they have to work to corner her, the less polite the interrogation will be.

No, better to meet the attack head-on, so to speak. If there’s one thing Chris learned as a hunter, it’s that the best form of defense is offense. Still, the thought of sitting by and watching as his family grills Lydia, of putting her in the path of his father’s particular brand of poison, makes his gut churn almost as much as the fact that he won’t so much be inviting her to family dinner as informing her that she needs to show up. 

And, for all that their bedroom activities might involve her being his good girl and taking orders, Lydia Martin is not a woman who’ll tolerate being told what to do. Chris is, not for the first time, stuck between a rock and a hard place, but familiarity doesn’t make it any pleasanter, and his stomach refuses to head back where it belongs. 

He climbs the stairs to the guest room like a man walking to the gallows. Lydia must hear him coming, because she’s at the door before he can knock. “Well, you look cheerful. I’m guessing you’re not coming up here to take advantage of Allison being out for the afternoon.” 

He gives her a faint smile. “I wish, but no. Can I come in?”

She gestures him in with an odd look, and doesn’t hesitate to settle next to him on the bed, her small hand resting lightly on his forearm. She’d probably have taken his hand if she could, but he’s got both of his clasped tightly together, as if squeezing them tightly enough to make the bones grind will prevent this from being a shitshow. 

But there’s no sense delaying the inevitable, so Chris takes a breath, and spits it out. “My father called. He and my sister heard about our engagement, and are going to be here tomorrow. They want to meet you over dinner.” He figures that’s a safe enough start. 

Lydia hums suspiciously, catlike green eyes narrowing. “I see. I take it you didn’t invite them for dinner—or to meet me—on such short notice? It seems like the sort of thing you’d have at least mentioned to me, first.” 

Chris winces, because this is where it’s likely to get ugly. “Ah, no.” 

Lydia smooths her hand up his arm, coaxing his grip to relax, just a touch. “I’m not sure I like that they think they can barge into your home and order you to present me to them, but I’m well-aware your family is insane.” 

“What?” 

She rolls her eyes, which he probably deserves, but still. “I told you, back in the beginning—give me a little credit. I knew what I was stepping into with you, knew that I was going to have to deal with your family at some point. Either they’ll respect our boundaries, or we’ll have to enforce them, but either way, this, us?” She looks up at him, and he’s struck, not for the first time, that he loves this woman’s mind. “We get to decide what we want our life together to be, not them.” 

“Right.” And she is. But still, “I feel like I should try to prepare you for what’s coming,” he mutters. 

“You know,” she murmurs, and that’s the Bedroom Tone, what is happening? “I think you should trust me to be able to hold my own, and let me distract you.” 

Chris valiantly ignores the way he’s hardening in his jeans in a Pavlovian response that should definitely have taken longer to form. “And why’s that?”

Her hand slides up his inner thigh, and his breath catches. “Think about it, love—think about how it’ll look, if we’re happy and relaxed when they get here, glowing with all the endorphins a few really good orgasms can give you. It’ll show them we don’t care about their opinion.” 

“Dinner’s not till tomorrow night,” he murmurs, but it’s a token protest and he knows it. His lips are brushing her ear, and the earlier sinking feeling in his gut is giving way to pure, unadulterated lust.

Lydia gives a wicked smile, the one he adores, along with everything else about her. “I know. But the house is empty, and it won’t hurt to get a head start.”

The hand on his thigh cups him through his jeans, and all he can think is, _I love the way she thinks_. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with another chapter, because Bunny is a bad influence. I'm mean and totally okay with making you all wait, but she's nicer than I am :P   
> ~Twist

When Lydia greets his family—who of course show up early, because it’s just like Gerard to turn what should be a pleasant family dinner into a power play—you’d never know, looking at her, that she was naked and dishevelled less than two hours ago. She’s put-together and effortlessly pretty in a way that has Kate impressed. 

“Oh wow, Chris never told us how gorgeous his fiancee is!” Kate leans in for a hug, and Lydia returns it, delicate and dainty in a way that doesn’t let Kate get a grip on her. 

“Well, I have to fit in with the rest of the family, don’t I?” she smiles. 

Kate gives a little laugh. “We’re gonna be best friends, I can tell.” 

Lydia gives her a wide-eyed look. “No, we’ll be _sisters_.”

Kate is stunned, and Chris bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t crow. It’s a thing of beauty, seeing Kate beaten at her own game. It’s only because he’s paying close attention that he sees the small wink Lydia tips him. 

Of course, that still leaves Gerard. Kate—no matter how fanatical and unhinged—is always going to be the smaller hurdle next to him. 

Surprisingly, Gerard gives him a nod of approval, and the idea that Lydia’s going to effortlessly charm his family lets him take a deep breath. “You going to introduce me, son?” 

Chris nods, because it’s not a question. “Lydia, this is my father, Gerard Argent. Father, this is Lydia.” 

Gerard gives a grin that’s mostly-grimace. “Well, that’s as bare-bones an introduction as I ever heard.” 

Before Chris slips up and asks whether he was supposed to announce them as hunters, Lydia swoops in. “Oh, but we’ll get to know each other better over dinner, won’t we?” 

“I suppose we will. For now,” he steps forward, and traps Lydia in a hug. It’s not friendly, though he wants it to look that way—if it were friendly, he wouldn’t be clasping her shoulder that hard, wouldn’t have his entire forearm across her back. 

Once again, Lydia handles it better than Chris expects—when she wants the hug to end, she simply takes a step back, forcing Gerard to extend his arms, and Chris sees that she has both her hands braced on the old man’s chest. “Let’s move out of the hallway, hmm? Dinner’s about ready, and I’m sure you’re hungry after your trip down here.” She turns towards the kitchen before he can reply, and it breaks his hold on her. She makes it look graceful and effortless, and Chris envies how easily she pulls it off.

He takes over from her, leading his father and sister into the dining room he’d agonized over setting up. The effort’s paid off, however, because the table’s elegantly set with a fine tablecloth, good but not overly fussy china, and a simple centrepiece. Combined with the smell of the roast in the oven, there’s absolutely nothing for his father to criticize without looking nitpicky for the sake of it. 

Chris might take some satisfaction in that. 

Gerard seats himself at the head of the table without asking, because he always was an entitled prick. Chris half-expects Lydia to say something, but she merely notes the action with a flick of her hair before helping him carry the serving dishes to the table. Her hand brushes across the back of his neck as she sits next to him, the touch a quiet reassurance that he’s come to crave. It’s a reminder that they’re in this together. 

They’re still loading up their plates when the inquisition begins. “So, Lydia, what are you doing right now? Chris mentioned that you’re a student?” 

Chris cringes a little at the way Kate says it, like he’s an old pervert, like Lydia is somehow lesser for her schooling and brilliant brain. But she just smiles and pours herself a glass of wine. “I was, yes, but I’m currently taking a year off after completing my PhD while I consider various job offers.”

Kate hums, and Gerard keeps glancing at Lydia’s face, though he stays quiet for now. “So you do have opportunities lined up, then.” 

Lydia smiles like she didn’t hear the insult buried in that little comment. “Of course I do. I just haven’t decided yet where I want to settle down, whether I want to go into teaching, research, both, neither. For the moment, I’m more focussed on the wedding. I’d like to start my marriage off right, and have my personal life in order before I launch my career.” 

At that, Gerard pipes up. “You set a date yet?” he asks, staring at Chris. 

Chris shakes his head. “Not yet, but we know we want it to be soon. We want a small ceremony, so soon won’t be a problem.” 

Gerard harrumphs, but descends into uneasy silence as he stares between the two of them, eating his roast potatoes like they’ve personally offended him. Kate gives a little cough that Chris just knows is covering a laugh, and breaks the increasingly-tense silence. “So, what’s your PhD in?” 

Lydia purses her lips, and Chris knows it’s because she’s holding in some kind of inappropriate response. Part of him wishes she’d let it loose, see if she couldn’t shock his old man into choking to death on a potato. “You mean Chris didn’t tell you?” Kate shakes her head. “I got my PhD in Applied Mathematics.” 

“Oh.” Kate almost sounds disappointed. 

Lydia goes on as if she doesn’t notice, and Chris loves her just a little bit more for the fact that she’s rubbing his father and sister’s faces in her intelligence, because it’s not her fault they underestimated her. Chris mentioned she was a grad school graduate, even if he didn’t mention her specialty. 

“Mhm. I published several papers that got a lot of attention in the STEM circles, so I’ll more or less have my pick of positions when I’m ready to start in a few months, and the book I’m writing in the meantime will certainly help me get a foot in the door if my year-long break causes any raised eyebrows.” 

“What could you possibly be writing a book about?” Gerard snorts. 

Chris wonders if he’s the only one close enough to feel the frosty cold radiating from Lydia in that moment. Her voice is even when she replies, “Math. I’d try to explain it in more detail, but I’m afraid you just don’t have the background to understand the concepts I’m working with.” 

There’s a long stretch of silence, and the tension is palpable as Gerard glares and Lydia stares him down, not cowed in the slightest. Finally, he asks the question Chris has been dreading. “Tell me Miss Martin, has my son told you anything about our family’s history?”

Lydia’s spine straightens slightly, and her shoulders go back. “It’s doctor.”

“What?” Gerard’s scowl deepens, and Chris holds his breath so he doesn’t whoop or laugh because he knows where this is going. 

“It’s Dr. Martin,” Lydia coolly. “Doctor. Not Miss. If you’re going to address me by my last name, I’ll have to insist you do so properly.” 

Gerard looks like he’s sucked a lemon, and Kate is hiding a grin behind her hand. Given that the Argents are at least nominally a Matriarchy, Gerard acquiesces with a constipated expression. “Very well. Dr. Martin, then. Do you know about our family’s history?

She quirks an eyebrow. “You mean that your family hunts?” She pauses. “I’m aware.” 

“Did he tell you _what_ we hunt?” Gerard leans forward expectantly, watching her carefully, and Chris holds his breath. 

Lydia flicks her hair, and Chris doesn’t even know how she manages to make it dismissive, but by god it is. “I know about the supernatural, if that’s what you're asking.” 

Gerard’s brow creases as his shoulders tense ever so slightly. “How? Were you attacked by one of those monsters? Is that how you and Christopher really met?”

Lydia blinks, and responds with her most deadpan tone. “No. But it just so happens that I’m neither blind nor an idiot, and the people in this town aren’t the least bit subtle.”

Gerard’s mouth drops open and it takes a few seconds to recover from losing his big reveal. Chris revels in quiet glee at seeing his father flustered for once. Gerard rallies quickly though, Chris will give the old man that. “Then you know how dangerous they are, how deceptive, walking around pretending to be human until they snap and lose control. Our family’s mission is to protect people from their savagery.”

Chris grits his teeth and exhales slowly so he doesn’t point out that what they do—his father and sister especially—is just as savage. He knows there’s only one way that sort of statement will end, and he’d rather not involve Lydia in that sort of ugliness. He’s had a lifetime to learn not to interrupt when Gerard is gearing up to sermonize on his favourite subject. 

But Lydia hasn’t, and doesn’t hold back—she hums, polite and dismissive. “So you’re telling me that you hunt werewolves, simply for existing?” 

If Gerard paid more than lip service to the Matriarchy, he’d recognize that tone, see it as the warning it is, understand it’s time to backpedal. Instead, he takes it as permission to continue. “What you have to understand, sweetpea, is that werewolves are, and always have been a scourge. A hidden danger that the general population doesn’t, and can’t know about, because it would cause mass hysteria. It’s on us, as Argents, to hold the line and keep them safe from the monsters in their midst. That is the noble tradition this family was built on, and we continue to honour it today. And if you’re going to be allowed to marry in, it’s important that we know you’re committed to the cause.” 

Lydia tips her head, and Chris can see the corner of her smirking mouth. He knows that look, and it makes his heart beat a little faster as blood pools in his groin. “Keeping the world safe from monsters is a cause I can dedicate myself to,” she says, so softly it would be easy to overlook the steel in it, and as he thinks about her phrasing, he realizes what she’s done. 

Kate grunts, and when he looks at her, she’s giving him a glare that says “really?” It doesn’t make sense, and he frowns, but then Gerard is speaking again, and he can’t really afford to not pay attention when his father is by far the greater threat. 

“Good,” Gerard spits. “Because by marrying my boy, you’ve just put yourself in line for the position of Matriarch, leader of this family, and that’s not a position for a weak-willed little girl. This family, our mission, won’t tolerate weakness. We don’t have room for it.” 

Chris takes a moment to be grateful that Allison isn’t here for this. 

“That,” Lydia says softly, “is not a flaw I’ve ever been accused of.” 

Gerard stares at her a moment, as if he can tell with his eyes alone whether or not that’s true. “Good. You’ll need to be strong, to take my son in hand. He’s always been a bit of a disappointment. Too soft-hearted.” 

Lydia’s hand finds his leg under the table, and she runs it up his thigh soothingly. “Trust me to know how to handle my husband-to-be. I have, after all, had some practise at this point.” 

Kate cackles. “I knew I was gonna like you. You’ll fit in just fine.”

“Which is fortunate, given that this wedding will be the event of the year in the wider hunting community. Luckily there’s still time to send word to the other clans. We won’t have everyone in one place, of course, but they’ll be able to send representatives,” Gerard says, as if it’s a foregone conclusion. 

Which, given that Lydia already said they wanted something small? It's enough to prompt Chris to break his silence. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Father.” 

Gerard gives him a look like the old bastard just saw an unnatural eye-flash. “Oh?”

“C’mon Chrissy, don’t take away your bride’s chance to have a big day, be the centre of attention,” Kate says, honey-sweet, like cruelty isn’t lurking in her dimples as she smiles. 

Before Chris can respond, the hand on his thigh squeezes. “Completely aside from the fact that I would actually prefer a small affair,” Lydia starts, her tone brooking no argument, “there’s also the fact that Beacon Hills is currently stable, but that stability has been hard-won. A massive influx of hunters into the territory is likely to draw more attention than we want, and it will certainly stir up trouble, which the innocent people of this city don’t need. Not right after all the suspicious deaths were finally stopped. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose I do,” Gerard grumbles, but Kate gives Lydia an approving smile. 

Chris gets up to fetch dessert, mentally counting down the minutes until they leave. 

***

Chris and Lydia are just finishing breakfast the next morning when her phone trills. She opens the text and snorts inelegantly, making a sound Chris is pretty sure nobody but him is allowed to hear. He raises an eyebrow, questioning. Lydia turns the phone round so he can see. “It’s Allie. Kate’s asking how much she thinks they’ll have to pay me to leave you.”

Chris opens his mouth to protest, but he’s interrupted by the phone trilling again. When Lydia reads the message, she tilts her head back and laughs. “It’s Kate. She wants to take me for lunch.” She widens her eyes, and puts a hand to her cheek in a faux-surprised expression. “I wonder what she could possibly want?” She bats her lashes and smirks wickedly.

Chris frowns. “Lydia, you don’t have to go along with this. So what if they cut us off? Let the trash take itself out.”

Lydia tilts her head and sighs. “I need you to trust me, Chris. A good marriage is built on trust, and I knew what I was getting into by marrying you.” 

She fires off a text before leaning in and brushing her lips against his cheek. She lets them linger for a moment before asking, “What were your plans for the rest of the morning, darling?”

Chris hums. “I was going to cut the grass. Why, you got a better idea?” 

Lydia licks the shell of his ear, and murmurs, “Only if you think letting me ride your face is a better idea.”

Chris grips her round the waist and starts herding her upstairs. “The grass can wait.” 

***

Later, when she’s all bare skin pressed against him, she asks quietly, “You really don’t care if you never see your family again?”

Chris looks at the gorgeous woman lying next to him, his second chance at happiness, and thinks about his family. About everything they’ve taken from him, and how they’re trying to take this, too. He lets his guard down and his reply is shockingly, painfully honest. Lydia may as well know all his secrets before they walk down the aisle. “When my father called me a disappointment yesterday? I took it as a compliment. It’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to me, even if he didn’t mean it that way.” There’s a tiny intake of breath, but she doesn’t interrupt, so he continues. “Their code, that lifestyle? It took Victoria from me, and almost cost me Allie. They can go die in a fire for all I care. I wouldn't count it a loss.”

He half-expects her to call him a monster, but she hums consideringly. “Tell me you mean it.”

He rolls over so he can see her face. “What?”

“Tell me you mean it,” she repeats. “I need to know you aren’t just joking, or saying something you don’t mean because they were awful at dinner last night, that you really would be fine if you had to grieve their loss.”

Chris doesn’t understand her sudden intensity, and he’s not sure he wants to. But while he hesitates, he won’t lie to his future wife. “There wouldn’t be anything to grieve.” 

And those beautiful green eyes trace over his face intently before she whispers, “Okay.” 

She presses a gentle kiss to his lips, and it feels heavier than it has any right to. He could ask, and is tempted, because he doesn’t want her doing something she doesn’t want to or pitting herself against his nightmare of a family, but in the end, he decides to trust her. She’s earned it. 

*** 

She comes back from her lunch with Kate suspiciously smug, but he still doesn’t ask. Some of it is because he’s not sure he wants to know if she’s decided “to go darkside”, as Stiles would say, and some of it is that he’s not in the mood for any more Argent-brand bullshit right now. Not after his father just spent the hour the women were gone trying to convince him to irreparably fuck up his impending marriage. And then, when that didn’t work, to leave Lydia altogether. 

He’s grateful beyond words when she hands him a glass of wine before settling next to him on the couch. “So, what do you think about going away for our honeymoon?” 

It’s not what he expected, but it’s nice to think about. “I think I’d like that,” he says slowly. “Victoria and I never really got a honeymoon, because of all the hunter politics. She married me, and immediately stepped into the role of Matriarch because Kate was too young, so we couldn’t be seen ‘slacking’ on our duties, even if we were newlyweds.” He doesn’t mention that it wasn’t a love match at first. He grew to love her though, and continued to love her until hunting took her from him. He’d cared deeply for her from the moment they said “I do”, and that affection had only grown stronger until she ordered him, as his Matriarch, to help her uphold the code she lived and breathed until it took her last breath. 

A small hand squeezing his thigh above the knee breaks him from his thoughts. “So you wouldn’t be opposed to a lovely little vacation, just a week of you and me on a beach somewhere the rest of the world can’t find us?” 

“Sounds perfect,” he breathes, because after the last two days, it does. 

Lydia nods. “There anywhere you don’t want to go, or have bad memories of?” 

Chris sips his wine as he ponders the question. “Not Mexico,” he says finally. “And ideally, not here in California. If we’re going to get away, I want to at least leave the state.” 

She leans over and kisses his cheek. “Oh, I think we can do better than interstate. Leave it with me—I’ll take care of the arrangements, you just make sure you have your passport and a bag packed for our wedding night.” 

At that, Chris sets his wine down, and plucks hers out of her hand, because he needs to kiss the hell out of her, and doesn’t want to have to clean up spilled wine or broken glass. 

Lydia doesn’t object, even if she laughs into the kiss a little.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter to get you through Monday  
> ~Twist

They set the date for a month away, and all of a sudden, it becomes achingly, thrillingly, terrifyingly real. Something of how he feels must show on his face, because Lydia laughs and combs her fingers through his hair. “It’s alright, honey. I won’t make you help with the planning too much.” 

Chris swallows, remembering the endless headaches of trying to get Victoria, her family, and his father to agree on the smallest things. “How much is ‘too much’?” he asks warily. He knows how insane weddings can get. 

Lydia just hums. “Indoor or outdoor wedding?” 

He frowns. “With your skin, the only way we can pull off an outdoor wedding comfortably would be late afternoon or evening. Unless it was already overcast.” 

“But which of those would you prefer?” 

He pauses, but knows she’s asking for a reason. He’s allowed to be honest with her. “Outdoor, if we can.” 

She smiles and nods. “Noted. How do you feel about a navy blue and champagne gold colour scheme?” 

He thinks about it for a moment. “For our wedding clothes, or the decorations?” 

Lydia waves a hand. “Both.” 

He pictures her in a champagne gown, the way the pale gold would make her hair shine and her skin look like cream, and his breath catches. “That sounds perfect.” 

“Lovely. There anyone you actually want to invite?” 

And that one’s harder to answer. He doesn’t have any real friends in the hunting community, and the friends he does have, he doesn’t want to expose to his family. He sighs. “In a perfect world, I’d like to invite the pack, both because it would send a message to the hunting community, and because I think I‘ve accidentally grown fond of most of them, God help me, but with Gerard and Kate there, I just don’t see how that’s possible.” 

Lydia hums, staring into the middle distance. “Leave it with me.” 

“That’s it?” It seems too easy. 

She turns, catches sight of his face, and bursts into laughter. “Chris, honey, I’m going to have help, I’m just not making you deal with it.” 

“Oh.” That . . . makes sense, actually. “You know I’m willing to help, right?” 

“I know you are,” she says fondly, cupping his cheek. “But I know you’re already worried enough about family matters, so let me take care of this for you?”

It's the easiest thing in the world to nuzzle into her palm and whisper, “Thank you.”

***

Chris isn’t sure, at first, why Lydia wants him to come with her to her lunch date with Stiles, but given how much she’s done and is doing for him, he agrees without a fuss. When she takes his hand under the table and asks, “Will you be my man of honour?” he thinks he understands. 

“Are you serious?” Stiles’s eyes go so wide, Chris is reminded of the boy’s buzzcut days, when he looked like one of those Japanese cartoon characters half the time. 

Lydia scoffs, but it’s fond. “Stiles, I haven’t been on speaking terms with my father since he decided that his credit card was an acceptable replacement for his time and attention. My mother isn’t even in the country, and has no plans to come back from Europe any time soon. Plus,” she hesitates, looking at him, and Chris knows from the pinched expression that this is a delicate subject, one she doesn’t want to talk about, “well. Her and I haven’t really been close since,” she waves a hand. 

“Eichen House,” Stiles murmurs, and Lydia tenses, there and gone so fast he’d have missed it if his leg wasn’t pressed against hers under the table. 

She keeps talking like he didn’t speak. “You and your dad are the closest thing I have to family that isn’t Chris and Allison. I want you there, and you had better have an acceptable navy suit to walk me down the aisle in, or so help me, you will regret the day you decided I was worth stealth-adopting.” 

“I did no such thing!” Stiles protests, windmilling his arms dramatically. Joke’s on him, though, Chris can see the way his eyelashes are wet and spiky. He’s not fooling anyone. 

Lydia smiles. “Of course you did, and you weren’t nearly as stealthy about it as you thought you were. But I never minded, which is why I want you and your dad there.” 

Stiles lays a hand on his chest. “Why, Lydia, have you gotten sentimental in your marrying age?” 

She swats at him, and he ducks, laughing. Chris shakes his head, amused. “If I’m not allowed to be emotional at weddings, when am I allowed?” she quips, but then her smile fades. “I also have to admit that part of the reason I want you and John there is because of Kate and Gerard.” 

That gets Stiles’s attention. He stops laughing, eyes focussing on Lydia as he tilts his head. It used to make him look puppyish, but now, Chris is reminded of Peter. 

“We all know what kind of people they are,” Lydia says delicately, likely both to spare his feelings and so as not to attract undue attention in a coffee shop. “I think having you both there would be a deterrent.” 

Stiles’s face firms, just for a moment, and it almost makes him look like a stranger. “You think they’ll try to cause trouble?” 

Lydia shrugs, looking at her lap. “The problem is that I don’t know, and I don’t want to have to compromise. Not on this.” 

“Okay,” he replies, and there’s the steel he’s had since he started running with wolves. “Then Dad and I’ll have your six.” 

Lydia nods, relaxing in her seat. “Thank you, Stiles,” Chris murmurs, “I’m glad she’ll have you, even if you do come with Peter attached.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles grins. “That’s why we got a joint invite to the wedding.”

Chris turns to Lydia with an exaggerated frown. “You did _what_?” he gasps, as if they don’t all know he sealed and addressed the envelope. Stiles and Lydia both dissolve into laughter. 

And, for all his grumbles, Chris doesn’t really mind, not truly, because Peter’s a ruthless adversary, and he would much rather have Peter on their side than working against them. That doesn’t mean that he and Peter don’t annoy the hell out of each other at times, because they absolutely do. Derek laughs at them and insists they bicker like his sisters used to, and Chris isn’t sure if all the Hales were insane, or if his upbringing was so extreme he doesn’t know what normal sibling relationships look like. Either way, the thought of having Peter as a brother is just—

And then it hits him. “Oh God,” he mutters, attracting their attention. “You’re going to get Peter to help plan the wedding, aren’t you?” 

At Stiles’s drawn out, “Yeah?” and Lydia’s _of course_ eyebrows, he slumps, groaning, but it’s mostly for show. With those three coordinating, he knows he doesn’t have to worry about a damn thing aside from showing up, because if Peter and Lydia don’t terrify everyone into compliance, Stiles will blackmail them into it. 

*** 

A month flies by in the blink of an eye, and, before Chris knows it, he’s collecting his family from the airport again. He doesn’t expect them to behave, but he’s not as worried this time around—Lydia’s proven herself perfectly capable of dealing with their particular brand of bullshit. He half-expects a lecture, or for one of Kate’s “friends” to be shoved at him in a highly-suspicious “coincidence”, but Kate just smiles like she knows something he doesn’t. They’re quiet and well-behaved in the car, which is shiftier than a feral cat. Even if Chris didn’t know they’d tried to sabotage his wedding and marriage, he’d be suspicious. The only reason he isn’t trying to pry answers out of them is that Lydia assured him it’s nothing he needs to worry about. 

So he takes a deep breath and revels, just a little bit, in the security of having someone firmly in his corner as he drops them off at Beacon Hills’ car rental office. Lydia had been adamant that she wasn’t having unwanted guests sleep under their roof tonight, and while he doesn’t know how she got his father and sister to agree, he has to admit that _their roof_ has a nice ring to it. 

Of course, the badgering begins once he’s helped them transfer their luggage from his SUV to the trunk of their rental. “Come with us to the hotel, have a few drinks, tell us about your little lady. I feel like there’s still so much we don’t know.” Gerard gives a sour smile, still not over the mix-up at the rental office that’s got him driving an old Honda Civic instead of the military-style SUV he favours. Chris doesn’t know how they managed to screw that up, but anything that throws a wrench into his father’s day is welcome in his. 

That makes it easy to drag up a polite smile. “I wish I could, but unfortunately, I have last-minute details to attend to. I’ll see you both tomorrow at the ceremony.”

He doesn’t wait for the inevitable argument, choosing instead to walk away, the way Lydia and Allison have both encouraged him to. His father gives his patented Disappointed Glare from behind the wheel of the rental car, but Chris ignores it—he has somewhere to be. It’s freeing in a way he didn’t expect. 

He drives straight home and is greeted at the door by Lydia holding his overnight bag. “You’re sure I can’t stay?” She looks so tempting right now—far more than John Stilinski’s spare room. 

She shakes her head, amused. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, and I think we’re already tempting fate, don’t you?” 

From inside, Chris can hear Allie and Stiles laughing over something, and the clink of glasses—probably champagne, knowing Lydia. She glances over her shoulder and he sighs, accepting his fate. “Just don’t let Stiles talk you into doing shots again, okay? You don’t need a hangover.”

She arches one perfect eyebrow. “I can handle my alcohol, thank you.” Lydia leans in and bestows a kiss, a tiny little thing that’s packed full of affection. “I’ll see you tomorrow at three.” She gives him a gentle shove, and then closes the door.

Chris stands on the doorstep for a moment, still trying to get over the fact that this amazing woman wants to marry him, and then he turns and walks to his car, humming under his breath. The drive to John’s is quick, and while he was promised entertainment for the evening, the last thing he expects when he walks in is to see Bobby Finstock and Peter Hale. 

Peter expertly shuffles a deck of cards. “Pull up a seat, Christopher, and prepare to be beaten.” 

Chris sits down carefully, wondering if it’s too late to bolt. Lydia would let him back in the house if she knew who he was running from, surely. When Peter and Bobby get together, their particular combination of sarcasm and insanity is as exhausting as it is hilarious. “Why?” 

Finstock laughs manically. “Because it’s poker night, so I hope you brought your bluffing face!” 

Chris turns to John, the ostensible voice of reason. “You’re not serious?” 

But the Sheriff just shrugs. “I promised you entertainment, didn’t I? What’s more entertaining than these two?” 

Chris shakes his head, and succumbs to the inevitable. 

The night turns out better than he expected, though. They stick to beer, some fancy IPA that Peter provided, and when Chris goes to bed at midnight he’s out seventy bucks courtesy of Peter and his goddamn werewolf senses, Bobby’s shared more than they ever needed to know about life with one testicle, and his abs ache from laughing so hard. 

As bachelor parties go, it’s pretty great.


	4. Chapter 4

Chris wakes up the day of his wedding with an impending sense of doom. Not because he’s marrying Lydia—he couldn’t be happier about that—but because his family’s here, and he’s sure they’ll try to fuck it up. He hasn’t heard anything else about their attempted bribe, and he hasn’t asked, but it would be naive to assume they’ll stop after their first plan falls through. His father never has before, never mind Kate. 

He stretches, wincing as his back cracks from a night spent in Stiles’s old twin bed.  _ There should be a law _ , he thinks,  _ that nobody over forty has to sleep in anything smaller than a queen _ . He drags himself out of the horror masquerading as a bed and into the bathroom, where a hot shower loosens his muscles. It doesn’t take his mind off the not-so-little problem of his family though. That’s still waiting for him afterward. 

Before the ball of dread in his stomach can grow beyond golf-ball-sized, there’s a knock at the door, and John’s, “There’s coffee if you want it,” pulls him from his thoughts. 

He calls out a, “Thanks,” through the door, and decides fuck it—coffee first, personal grooming later. He heads back into the spare room to pull on clean boxers and an undershirt, wanting more than just the towel but not up to getting dressed for the day yet. That can wait until after coffee. 

He tries to tame the unease in his gut as he heads downstairs, but it’s not that simple. This is a visceral reaction to his father being within a hundred miles of something that really matters to him, something that makes him happy, and this sick, heavy feeling and the urge to pick up sticks and run is a reaction born of bitter experience. 

The last thing he expects to see when he gets to the kitchen is Peter. “Are you  _ still  _ here?” he grumbles. Chris almost wishes he’d put on pants. 

Peter snorts. “No. I did in fact go home and spend time with my partner, but I came back this morning for two reasons. The first is this,” he replies, holding up a bag. It takes Chris a minute, but he realizes he’s looking at a takeout bag from the best all-day breakfast place in town. 

His face splits into a smile. “Really? You brought breakfast?” 

Peter nods. “Enough for the three of us. I figure he,” Peter nods towards where John’s fiddling with sugar and creamer, “deserves bacon for putting up with us last night.” 

“Damn straight,” John mutters. When he turns around, it’s to carry over coffee for the three of them. “Let’s eat before it goes cold. Or before Stiles’s bacon radar goes off and he suddenly appears to snatch my food away.” 

Chris chuckles, but settles in easily enough with his portion of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon, and the tension in his gut eases as he realizes that they’ve got this. John and Peter will both be there today, as will Stiles, to say nothing of his Allie-cat and Lydia. Each of them are formidable in their own way, but with all of them united in the effort to make sure this wedding goes off without a hitch, there’s no way Gerard can win. 

The miserable old bastard might  _ think  _ he can ruin this, but Chris knows it won’t happen, not this time. This time, his father's dealing with Lydia. 

Chris stretches after he finishes eating, in a much better mood. “So, what was the other thing you came over for?” 

Peter smiles, and Chris starts to wonder if breakfast wasn’t just bribery for John. “I’m here to help you get ready for the ceremony, of course. I have the pocket squares in the car, and plan to introduce you to the last hair product you’ll ever own.” 

Chris groans. Definitely bribery. “I am capable of dressing and grooming myself, you know.” 

John snorts, but says nothing. “Of course you are,” Peter agrees easily. Too easily. “But a little help to get everything just right isn’t such a terrible thing on your wedding day, is it?” 

“No,” Chris says slowly, squinting. “But that’s not why you’re doing this.” 

Peter gives an innocent expression that no one buys for a second. “It could be.” 

“But?” John mutters. 

“But I promised Lydia that her groom would look perfect, even without her here to attend to certain details,” Peter admits, and goddamnit, Chris can’t even argue with that, he’s too busy trying to breathe around a sudden fit of feelings. “And helping you get ready today will involve subtle scent-marking, which marks you as pack. I’d be lying if I said the thought of rubbing dear Kate’s face in that doesn’t appeal to me.” 

Chris sighs, knowing he’s lost. “Fine, but I draw the line at shaving. I’ll do that myself.” 

***

She’s late. Chris is waiting at the altar, and his bride is late. 

He does his best not to panic, but he doesn’t like the way Kate's smirking and whispering in Gerard’s ear. It makes him wonder, for a split second, if they were successful after all, and his gut clenches. He doesn’t think he could forgive them, not if they’ve stolen this, too. But then Allison nudges him and nods, and as he turns he sees Lydia and Stiles waiting for the string quartet to start playing so they can advance up the grassy path that leads to the gazebo. The tension leaves his body in a whoosh, and he can only stare entranced at his bride. 

Her pale, glittering gown has a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves, the bodice tailored tight to her waist until it flows out in a full A-line skirt. It’s simple and elegant, without beading or stones or lace, like he’d half-expected, but the simplicity of the style along with the subtle gold shimmer makes her seem to almost glow. He stares at her face as Stiles walks her up the aisle, taking in the smile on her lips and the way her eyes shine, and then it hits him: she’s not wearing a veil. Instead, her long hair has been pulled away from her face and left to flow in loose waves down her back, and there’s a delicate spray of small blue flowers on either side of her head. Somehow, the flower crown is what makes his heart squeeze in his chest. 

When Chris manages to drag his gaze away from Lydia, he can’t help but notice that Kate’s expression is sour—and if looks could kill, Lydia would be lying dead with the one Gerard’s giving her. “Oh Daddy, Grandpa looks pissed,” Allie murmurs, and there’s a cruel satisfaction twisting her smile.

“Do I wanna know?” he whispers, barely moving his lips.

“Later.” Allison links her arm in his, and he’s reminded once again that he has formidable people in his corner, even if others look at them and only see young, beautiful women. Lydia was  _ the  _ popular girl in high school, and while she may have acted the vapid queen of the hormonal masses, Chris knows that being The Popular Girl doesn't just happen. You can’t hold a position like that without nerves of steel and the ability to outsmart almost everyone around you. The high school social hierarchy is as brutal as the hunting community, in its own way. And she’s a female academic who has managed to capture the attention of her field’s best and brightest before she’s even fully entered it. So while he’s positive that his amazing girls have done  _ something, _ he doesn’t need to know the details.

The music fades as Lydia takes her place next to him. Allison steps forward, and formally hands him over to Lydia, picking up her best friend’s hand and placing her father’s in it, her own laid overtop for a moment before she steps back. It might seem unconventional for Chris to be given away, but not in hunter families. The gesture is both personal and political, sending a clear message about Allison’s position as the Argent Matriarch, quietly communicating not only that Lydia has refused the position, but also that Allison approves of their match. 

Chris couldn’t be prouder, and he thinks the mantle suits her, for all that it’s heavy for such young shoulders. But her bearing and smile are as regal as her gown—a toga-style sheath with a halter-neck and empire waist that emphasizes her height and the muscle definition she earned with her archery, in a deep navy that matches his suit. A gold ribbon the same shade as Lydia’s dress is woven through her braided updo, and it may as well be a crown. 

They keep the ceremony simple, and Chris is glad—he’s too old for elaborate, fanciful promises, and he knows Lydia doesn’t need them to know how he feels about her. His vows are simple, and heartfelt. “I promise to love and honor you, in sickness and in health, in times of peace and times of trouble. I will be faithful to you in thought and action, for the rest of my life.” 

Lydia smiles like the sun. “I promise to love and support you, and do everything in my power to make you happy, no matter what comes our way, for the rest of my life,” she vows, and it’s his turn to grin like an idiot. 

They sign the register and then Chris gets to kiss his bride.

The guests clap when he ducks his head to press his lips to hers, and out of the corner of his eye he sees his father gritting his teeth. He wonders why, but it's easy to ignore when Lydia’s hand tangles in his hair to pull him into another, much less chaste, kiss that earns them a wolf-whistle from Stiles.

They part after that, and Lydia beams up at him. She’s glowing. “You’re mine now,” she murmurs softly.

“Yours,” he agrees. His cheeks ache from smiling so hard, and he wonders how he ever doubted Lydia would get what she wanted. 

They walk down the aisle hand in hand, stopping for congratulations and hugs along the way. It’s a small wedding, but it still takes them a while to work through the guests. Kate’s somehow moved to the very back of the crowd, despite her seat with Gerard near the front. She draws Lydia into a hug, and Chris only catches half of her whispered, “. . . treacherous bitch. You agreed!” 

He is, however, close enough to hear Lydia’s quiet, confident reply. “Did I? I don’t remember that.” She leans out of Kate’s grasp, and smiles sweetly before linking arms with Chris and walking away.

Whatever his wife’s done, if it upsets his sister that much, Chris can only approve.

***

The reception is a garden party just as simple and elegant as the ceremony itself. The soothing sound of violins floats through the air as waiters glide smoothly under the marquee, offering refreshments. Chris catches the logo of the premier catering company in town, and wonders how they were able to afford them. But, then again, Lydia’s capable of achieving the near-impossible on a daily basis, even when she doesn’t have help. 

He’s besotted, he’ll freely admit, and he’d prefer to stand in the afternoon breeze staring at her in starry-eyed love, but his attention is captured by Gerard. Chris watches warily as his father stalks in the direction of Peter and Stiles, who are standing a little apart from the other guests, talking quietly. Gerard’s face is twisted with fury, and Kate’s not far behind him, though she’s got a look of glee that immediately puts Chris on-guard. Nothing good ever comes from that look. 

He takes Lydia's hand and nods in that direction, and her lips press together briefly before she nods in understanding. As much as he doesn’t want to leave her side—it’s their wedding, for God’s sake—he wants to keep the inevitable confrontation as contained as possible. There are civilians here who aren’t in the know. As soon as he starts moving that way, Allison joins Lydia in keeping the other guests away from what’s sure to be an ugly scene. 

Peter wraps a hand around Stiles’s waist protectively, but they stand their ground. Gerard ignores Stiles and goes straight for Peter. “How dare you turn up here?”

Peter arches an eyebrow. “I was invited, so I came to wish them well. Like a  _ civilized  _ person does, when they learn their friend is getting married.” Peter throws Chris a bright, mischievous smile. “Although, after everything, I’d almost call us family, wouldn’t you, Christopher?” 

The air crackles with tension at the subtle barb, and, while Chris is holding his breath at how this will play out, he wonders if Peter knows about the attempted bribe. It certainly sounds like it.

He wishes he were surprised that it's Kate who escalates it, but he’s really not. She never saw a happy gathering she didn’t want to burn to the ground. “It’s funny you say that, given the sign at the entrance. Did you not see it on your way in?  _ No dogs allowed _ .” 

Stiles stiffens at the slur, and Chris hisses, “Kate, this isn’t the time or place,” heart racing at all the ways this could go wrong. All it will take is for someone to lose control, and the guests are going to be subjected to a bloodbath. It’ll be Beacon Hills’ very own Red Wedding.

But Peter gives a cruel smirk. “You should come a little closer,” he says, silk-smooth and dangerous, “and say that again.” He taps his neck, right below his ear. “Come whisper it in my ear.” 

“Kate, don’t,” Chris pleads quietly, reaching out to stop her, but it’s too late—she’s already stepping into Peter’s space, so sure of herself and secure with their father at her back that she’s going to willingly step into her own execution. 

But Peter just leans in close, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing briefly as a slow, evil smile creeps across his face. “Well, well, well.” He inhales again exaggeratedly, making a show of drawing his nose along the curve of her cheek. Kate flinches, stepping away from Peter and back towards Gerard. Peter stalks forward, letting go of Stiles—who, Chris now notices, looks to be packing under his suit—and freeing them both up for a fight, if it comes to that. “Someone’s keeping secrets from daddy, aren’t you Katydid?”

Kate tosses her glossy curls, but the gesture’s off. It’s not as confident as it should be. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“ _ Fee, fi, fo, fate, I smell the blood of shifter Kate,” _ Peter sing-songs, and Chris is eerily reminded of Jack Nicholson in The Shining. 

“That’s impossible!” Gerard snaps, bristling.

Peter’s smile gets wider. “Oh is it? Because unless I’m wrong—and I’m not, that scent is very distinctive—Katie has a secret. Isn’t that right, Kitty-cat?” In a flash, he closes the distance between them to brush the back of his fingers down her cheek. “I wonder, how fast would you heal if my control slipped?” he muses.

“Go on, then. Draw first blood,” Kate taunts.

But when Peter shrugs and extends a single claw, Kate suddenly shoves him away from her as she skitters backwards, and Gerard's breath catches.

“Kate?” his voice wavers, and for a moment he sounds like the harmless, frightened old man he’s never been. 

Kate turns, all her attention on him, because suddenly, the biggest threat is no longer the werewolf in their midst. “Daddy, you know he’s lying.” 

She moves a little closer, throwing one arm out towards Peter, and it’s all the old man needs. In a second he has a hand clamped around her wrist and the tip of a small blade hovering over the bare skin of her arm. “Is it true? Are you one of them?”

“Daddy, he’s trying to make us turn on each other—don’t do this, don’t let him win.” The problem is that, while her words are confident, Kate herself is anything but—she’s squirming to escape her father’s grip, eyes too wide and voice too high. And Chris isn’t the only one who sees it. 

Kate realizes what he’s going to do, and pulls away—but Gerard’s too fast, turning the blade so that it parts the soft skin of her forearm as she jerks back. The effect is instantaneous. She gasps, stiffening, and then starting to shake.

“Traitor,” Gerard hisses, and Kate whimpers, clutching her arm. She’s looking distinctly grey, and Chris knows what that means—there’s wolfsbane on the blade. “You know the code.  _ Thou shalt not suffer a wolf to live _ .”

“She’s no wolf,” Peter says, lips curled in bloody satisfaction. “A shifter, yes, but not a wolf. Your daughter's nothing but a feral _ cat.”  _ Peter spits out the last word triumphantly.

It’s Stiles who takes a step forward, and Chris doesn’t miss the way he angles his body in front of Peter, like he wants to protect him from the blade, or the way Peter immediately loops an arm around his waist and drags them both backwards. Stiles hisses in an undertone, “Get her out of here. People are looking.” When Chris drags his attention away from the steadily blackening wound in his sister’s arm he sees that other guests are glancing their way. One or two are starting to approach with concerned faces, drawn by the stir. 

Gerard pockets the knife and clamps a hand over the cut on Kate's arm, and with forced cheer, claps Chris on the back and says loudly, “Your sister doesn’t look well, son. She must have gotten a bad oyster.” 

Kate chooses that moment to lean to the side, coughing. Eventually she spits into the bushes, and a thin stream of black ooze dribbles from her mouth. Gerard makes a sympathetic noise, and to an outsider, his concern must look touching. “I’ll get her back to the hotel, take care of her.” 

His grip doesn’t loosen as he half-walks, half-drags Kate swiftly away, and they can hear her feeble protests as she stumbles trying to keep up.

There’s a heavy silence, and Chris tries to absorb the fact that Kate has hidden this. He wonders how he didn’t see it. When he thinks about it, she showed all the signs. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t looking. 

Obviously, neither was his father. But Gerard knows now, and he won’t forgive being fooled. Not in this. 

Chris stares at the exit blankly, struggling to keep his composure. Somehow, in all the scenarios he ran of ways his wedding could turn disastrous, this possibility never featured. He snaps out of it when Peter claps a hand on his shoulder, turning him back towards the party, and Lydia.

“Champagne?” she asks, holding out a flute for him. He takes it, and drains it one go, grateful all over again that he married her. 

Peter signals a waiter over, and everyone takes a drink gratefully. Lydia exchanges a significant look with Peter, who nods. Chris lays a hand on his wife’s arm, stopping her from sipping her champagne.“You knew?” 

She shrugs, like it’s not important. “Not until now, not for sure, but I had reason to suspect.” She cups his cheek. “It’s alright, Chris. I told you, give me a little credit.” 

***

Gerard’s back an hour later. Nobody mentions Kate, and Chris does his best to pretend not to notice the tiny, rust-coloured droplets staining the cuff of his father’s shirt. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The finale! I hope it's everything you hoped for. It's late cuz life got in the way, like a rude bastard. Hope you all have a good weekend!  
> ~Twist  
> Psst - Winter - we managed to sneak in that thing we were talking about, the one about brides and bribes. Hope you like the end result! - Bunny

When she hands him his ticket, he double-takes, because that can’t be right. “Bora Bora? Since when can we afford Bora Bora?”

Lydia chuckles. “We can, and we did. Now stop questioning my judgement and let’s go get on the plane, husband,” Lydia kisses him. 

Chris does as he’s told, but he can’t completely shut off his worry. Lydia’s hand finds his, and gives a little squeeze. He sighs, and decides to fess up. “I’m worried about leaving Gerard in town.” He doesn’t explain why, doesn’t have to. 

“Allison is still there,” she reminds him, her tone firm. “And, even if she weren’t in charge, she’d still have the Stilinskis to watch her back. Everything will be fine while we’re away.” 

And, well. She’s right, but, “You think Allison can handle him?”

There’s something dark glittering in Lydia’s eyes as she smiles. “I think she’s more than capable. Don’t you?”

And Chris? He’s learning, so he hums in agreement and then curls around his new wife as they head to paradise. 

***

As soon as they get to the resort, tension Chris didn’t realize he was carrying slips away. It’s not just that he’s married to an amazing woman who stared down the barrel of his family’s insanity and didn’t flinch, or that their wedding went off with only a minor hitch, despite several attempts to ruin it. It’s not even the relief of a hot shower after a long plane ride. 

It’s that they have ten glorious days together, just the two of them, to watch exotic fish swim under the glass floor of their over-the-water-hut, and go snorkelling, and enjoy lazing around on their private beach. It’s that Kate and Gerard and the supernatural can’t reach them here, with their cell phones turned off and hours of tropical sunshine to chase away the darkness and the monsters that hide in it. 

Chris has never been happier or more at ease, and he grins when Lydia holds out the bottle of long-lasting sunblock asking, “Do my back?” 

Because the only answer to that from now on is, “Of course.” 

So he takes it from her, and smooths the lotion over her back, her torso looking deceptively delicate beneath his big hands. His fingers wrap around her ribs, skating up until he’s sliding his hands underneath her tiny bikini top, cupping and kneading gently, teasing her nipples into firm peaks as she whimpers prettily. 

“Patience,” he rumbles, like he’s not hardening inside his board shorts. He slips his hands out from under her top, squeezing out more sunblock and dropping into a crouch behind her. “Can’t leave you to the mercy of the sun out here.” 

He slides his hands up her legs, massaging as he goes, letting his touches linger over her inner thighs and drift up to the cheeks of her sweet ass. He teases a little more, only to give in at her first whispered, “Please,” laying her out right there on their private beach, and fastening his mouth between her thighs. He revels in the way sea salt and sunshine accent her usual tangy-musk.

She insists he have her, right there on the beach with the tide slowly creeping in, and he agrees—there’s no one around to see, or judge, and it’s always been a secret fantasy of his. So he takes his time, and makes her come twice more before he spends. After, they lie there panting and kissing lazily until the waves reach their feet. 

The next morning, Lydia rubs aloe over his ass-cheeks, which she assures him have gone rosy pink. “Looks like you were worried about putting sunblock on the wrong butt, huh?”

He chuckles, unrepentant. “What can I say? I’ve always wanted to make love on the beach. And it’s not like having you tend to the aftermath is a hardship.”

She sighs fondly. “You and your soon-to-be freckled ass are ridiculous. You’re lucky I love you.”

He hums an affirmative, because he really is. 

***

It’s hard, coming back to reality, but Chris has a business to run and Lydia has a book to write, so they pack their bags and Lydia pays their bill, ignoring Chris’s growing horror at the string of numbers that look more like a phone number than an actual amount. “We can afford it,” she says breezily. “A gift from your family.”

“What gift?” His father's tighter than a fish’s asshole, and Chris doesn’t believe he'd ever willingly do something so generous.

Lydia hums. “Perhaps ‘gift’ isn’t the right word. Kate offered me fifty thousand dollars if I agreed to leave you at the altar. I didn't say no, but I didn't say yes either. I just gave her my account number, and since she deposited the funds, she must have assumed I’d agreed. How silly of her.”

Chris puts his arms around her waist and draws her close, to the amusement of the desk clerk. “Have I told you today how much I love you, Mrs. Argent?” 

She smiles and gives him a peck on the cheek. “You know I’m keeping my last name for professional reasons.” She lowers her voice. ”But you can call me that when it’s just us.”

Chris knows good and well that when it's just them, it's different. When they’re alone, Lydia is his good girl, sweet and pliant and eager to please. _That_ Lydia’s strictly their secret, one he isn’t inclined to share. 

They kiss until the clerk clears his throat. He hands Lydia’s card back with a smile while Chris continues to try and come to grips with the fact that his brilliant wife fleeced his father for fifty grand. 

The thought of Gerard reminds him of what’s waiting for them when they get back. They can’t ignore him forever, but Chris is in no hurry to deal with the inevitable backlash. Their saving grace right now is that his father is no doubt still distracted by the whole situation with Kate, at least for now. Chris wonders wistfully if they can just pull up stumps and move across the country before Gerard catches wind. It’s the coward’s solution, but it has a certain appeal. He decides to talk to Lydia about the idea.

***

They’ve barely been home half an hour when there’s a knock at the door. Chris is in the bedroom unpacking when Lydia calls out, “Chris? It’s the police.”

There's something unusually formal in her tone, so he takes the stairs two at a time to find John and Stiles at the door in full uniform, expressions sombre. 

"Chris Argent?” He nods. He wonders fleetingly if they’ve found Kate's body somewhere and need him to identify it. “We regret to inform you that there’s been an accident.” 

Chris schools his features into a suitably concerned mask, wondering why they’re even bothering with this charade. At John’s next words, his shock becomes real. “Your father was driving on a back road, and appears to have hit an animal of some kind in his rental. Probably a deer, although we can’t be sure. By the time Stiles found him it was too late.”

Chris’s breath catches. “Too late? You mean he's—”

John gives a reluctant nod. “I’m sorry, Chris. Coroner said he probably died on impact.” He ducks his head. “We were able to ID the body, so you don’t have to go through that.” Chris feels Lydia’s arm around his waist, and then she steers him away from the door and settles him on the couch, where he stares at nothing as he digests the news. He waits for the inevitable grief to hit him, but once the initial numb shock passes, there’s no pain or sense of loss. He’s not in denial about what’s happened. He’s just . . . _free_. For the first time in his life, he’s free.

When he looks up, John and Stiles are sitting opposite him. Stiles is leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his expression identical to the look of concern on his dad’s face, and Chris is struck by the ease between them, the synchronicity and unspoken affection. He wants to tell Stiles that he’s lucky to have that relationship, to treasure it, but now’s probably not the time. “Chris? You gonna be okay?” John asks, his brow furrowed. 

Chris takes a deep breath, his first without the weight of his father’s expectations squeezing his lungs, and says, “Yeah. I am.”

***

The police report’s straightforward enough. When it's a small car vs. a large animal, there are rarely survivors. Nobody’s quite sure what Gerard was even doing on that back road, but if Chris had to hazard a guess, he'd put money on his father tracking a Were. Someone must have tipped him off, and Gerard's arrogant enough that he’d attempt to follow it up on his own. Or rather, he was. At the end of the day, the police chalk it up as just another freak accident in a town with a history of those.

Chris chooses to believe them.

Quite a few hunter families from out of town take the opportunity afforded by Gerard’s burial to send a representative to meet with the new Matriarch. Chris doesn’t go with Allison to the gathering—he has every confidence she can hold her own, and he’s not expected to attend with the funeral the next day. He might’ve insisted, just so she wasn’t facing it alone, but Lydia goes with her, which is frankly more backup than she needs. 

The day of the funeral is overcast, and it's somehow fitting that the sky is as gloomy as his father’s legacy. Chris stands at the graveside between his wife and his daughter, and watches dispassionately as they finally lower the old bastard into the ground. Lydia gives his hand a gentle squeeze, leaning against his side. He squeezes back, wants to assure her he’s fine, really, because she's been casting worried glances all day, probably thinking he’s going to break down any minute. He won’t, though. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t grieve.

Afterwards there’s a wake of sorts, refreshments and false condolences from people eager to get in Allison’s good books. It doesn’t last long, and Chris doubts a single person there held a scrap of affection for the deceased. Nobody mentions Kate’s absence. Chris assumes that means the truth—or part of it, anyway—is being whispered about in hunting circles. 

The people who know him best, the ones who matter, are all there for appearances' sake, but they don’t bother pretending sympathy. Peter gets a lot of sideways glances from hunters, but since he’s standing with the Sheriff on one side and a deputy on the other, Chris is confident nobody will create a scene. He’s oddly touched that Peter turned up at all, and wonders if it’s because he wants to cause a stir within the hunting community or if it’s just to be certain that Gerard's finally in the ground. If it’s the latter, Chris can’t say he blames him.

As the last of the guests trickle out, Chris turns to Lydia, and he almost asks her. Almost. It can’t be a coincidence, can it? But he’s interrupted by Allison laying a hand on his arm. “Let it go,” she says quietly, the thread of steel in her voice leaving him in no doubt that she’s speaking not as his daughter, but as the head of the Argent clan, and he’s reminded that this isn’t his load to bear.

He lets it go, and he can’t say he minds.

***

It’s a couple of weeks later, and John’s invited them round for his birthday. Since the weather’s nice they’re all sitting out on the back deck, drinking beer and shooting the shit. Chris is talking to John when his attention is caught by the sound of Stiles and Peter bickering like the old married couple they’ll no doubt become.

“No! You're not getting in my bed like that again! You’re freaking huge!” Stiles waves an arm to emphasize his point. 

Peter, predictably, smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Stiles makes a frustrated noise. “Please. You _wish_ that's what I meant. Nope, you’re banned from the bedroom when you've been rolling in dirt. And I’m not exactly a fan of the dog breath,” he tacks on for good measure, and Chris can practically _see_ Peter's hackles raise from where he's sitting.

“Well _excuse me_ for offending your delicate sensibilities!” Peter snaps. “I’ll just pop a breath mint into my little werewolf pockets, shall I?”

“Asshole,”Stiles mutters. “Should build you a kennel for when you’re like this.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Chris asks John quietly.

“Nah. Just Peter getting a little too in touch with his wolf. Came home last night in full shift and muddied up the sheets again, apparently.”

Chris’s brain stutters for a second. “Wait. Since when has Peter been able to full shift?”

“Hell if I know. He keeps it quiet—I only found out because Stiles let it slip.” _He would keep it secret_ , thinks Chris. Peter always did like to have an ace up his sleeve. 

“You ever seen it?” 

John lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah. Nearly had a heart attack the first time. He's massive. Size of a damned hatchback.”

Something about that catches in Chris’s mind, and he thinks about a tiny Honda instead of an SUV, an animal in the road that was never found, and the way Stiles was the first on the scene. “A hatchback, huh?”

“Yep. Stiles tells me that every so often he’ll come home from a run, covered in mud and burrs, and roll around in the bed all wolfed out. Peter claims he can’t resist the urge to mark his territory.” John shrugs. “Who knows? He might even be telling the truth. All I know is it drives Stiles clear up the wall—he’s threatened to hide Peter's Egyptian cotton sheets and replace them with polyester blend ones from Walmart if he does it again.”

Chris nods on autopilot, but right now his attention’s caught by the tilt to Peter's head that shows he’s listening in. Chris catches his eye and raises an eyebrow, holding Peter’s gaze in silent enquiry. Peter angles his head towards where Allison and Lydia are laughing together, and then he gives Chris the tiniest of nods. _You're welcome._ The smile that accompanies it is all teeth.

And that, Chris supposes, is his answer. He chooses not to press the issue—he knows enough. He takes a minute to marvel in the fact that not only is his wife brilliant, but she also inspires the type of loyalty in her friends where they will, quite literally, kill for her.

***

A few months later, when Chris has a tipsy, affectionate Lydia curled against him on their couch, the afternoon sun setting her hair aglow and drawing his fingers into it like a moth to flame, he takes a chance and brings it up. He figures there’ll probably never be a better time. “Sweetheart?”

“Hmmm?”

He hesitates, but decides that he needs her to know—this marriage is founded on honesty. Honesty and trust. “I wanted to talk to you about my father.” Lydia tenses and opens her mouth, but he tugs a little at one of her curls, and she waits. “I’m not sure exactly what you and Allison did, and I don’t much care about the details. But I need to say something.” He tilts her chin up so he can look into those brilliant eyes, and gives her a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Lydia melts against him, the tiny crease that had appeared in the centre of her forehead disappearing as she gives him a brilliant smile in return. “I did promise to do everything I could to make you happy, Chris. And I meant it.” 

He leans over and kisses the top of her head. “Baby, I’ve never been happier.” And it’s true. 

Right here, right now, with his clever wife? Chris is totally, utterly content.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hang out with [Twist](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/) and [Bunny](https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, where we are just as ridiculous.


End file.
